I’m honestly not proud of it — but a foreign invader has turned me into a killer.
It started when I found myself screaming with my youngest daughter Phoebe as we opened the east-facing door and screen after a morning of cleaning up a few gardens. I personally don’t mind a few spiders and snakes in the yard, but I turn into the equalizer when there are 50+ hard-shelled stink bugs assaulting my sense of smell and physically tormenting my well-being by flying toward my hair with their buzzing wings and using my clothes as a landing pad.
I can’t blame the nearby farmers for harvesting their corn and soybeans, but it seems that is exactly when the brown marmorated stink bugs join forces and head to my house.
But I too have taken action. After Phoebe and I took cover inside the house, we did our homework to formulate a plan of entomological military action.
Doing research as hoards of stink bugs peered into the windows attempting to discover our plan, we locked eyes in fear when Phoebe read research that reported: “In the U.S., no poison can kill it, there’s no predator to hunt it.”
When we read that these Asian invaders, introduced to the U.S. a mere 20 years ago, take cover in attics or roof shingles in the fall, Phoebe suggested: “There’s only one thing to do Mom — burn down the house.”
Not ready to accept defeat, we continued to research as clumps of BMSB’s began to join forces — climbing in multitudes on the brick back porch and east windows in broad daylight.
It was like they were all chanting in unison: ‘Nahnee, nahnee boo-boo,” as we hurriedly read the most recent USDA reports and BSBM elimination strategies.
We read about garlic and mint sprays — pshhh! — that was only to repel them. Nope, we wanted them dead.
They continued to build forces on the windows until I couldn’t stand it any longer. When I bolted out of the basement door, I heard Phoebe yell, “Mom, be careful!”
With my weapon of choice — a plastic cup with only ¼ cup of water and a generous squirt of dish detergent— I quietly army crawled to the screen door and began flicking them one-by-one into their watery death — soap kills them by breaking down their protective exterior and dehydrating them. I stopped counting after 127.
War-torn, when I re-entered the safety of the house, Phoebe said something encouraging like: “You are a strong warrior.”
The BSMB war isn’t over yet, but it’s a nice feeling to have left Johnson County just a little bit safer.
